


Reigning Champ

by LadySlytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Hogwarts Eighth Year, I had way too much fun with this, M/M, Mistletoe, Party Games, Too Hot, a whole bunch of random people snogging Draco, past!Harry/Ginny, plotting afoot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2902889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing every Slytherin loves, it's a good game. <i>Too Hot</i> was played at every party Slytherin House had hosted for years, and Draco had won every round since the first time he played. Pride in his title as Champion was to be expected. Stating it like a challenge in front of the returning Eighth-Year Gryffindors? <i>Not</i> Draco's brightest move, to be sure. </p><p>Combine the challenge with mistletoe, feminine wiles and secret plots, Ron Weasley's temper, and an unexpected connection with a Dragonologist and Draco's Christmas just got a whole lot more complicated!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reigning Champ

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emeraldawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeraldawn/gifts).



> So...this was initially plotted out as a birthday present for Emeraldawn...but I'm horrid about getting things done on time and it got SUPER-long before I quite knew what was happening and...and...yeah. So it got squished into a birthday/Yule gift instead, which is cool because it turned out about 5K longer than I anticipated it being anyway, and it took me FOREVER to finish. So.
> 
> The game "Too Hot" is entirely real...and sadly, not one I ever played. It seems like a whole bucket of fun, though! I hope you enjoy watching as Draco works his way through the main-and-supporting-cast of HP, determined to hold on to his title as Too Hot Champion.
> 
> This fic has several dedicated pre/beta-readers and I love them all, but if we as a collective missed any errors I do apologize; we're only human, after all. Kudos always leave me smiling, but comments make my entire day that much brighter. Happy reading!
> 
> ~ Sly

It had started innocently enough. The Eighth Year common room was often filled with laughter and conversation that spanned across the House boundaries. Though the first few weeks of school had seen the Slytherins still set apart - often silent and withdrawn - by the time Halloween rolled around, enforced proximity had broken down their walls. Which was, of course, the start of it all. That, and Pansy laughingly reminiscing with Blaise about the parties Slytherin had thrown, once upon a time.

Hermione’s ears had picked up on something she said; it drew the bookish girl out of her studies. “What was that, Pansy?” She asked curiously. “You said something about a champion?”

Blaise nodded as Pansy answered enthusiastically. “Salazar, _yes._ I was just saying to Blaise that it’s a pity we don’t play anymore, because now there’s no chance of anyone beating Draco. He’s never lost.”

“Never lost at what?” It was Seamus asking; most of the gathered Eighth Years - primarily Slytherins and Gryffindors - had tuned into the conversation at the same time Hermione had.

“Too Hot.” Blaise drawled, smirking. “It’s a blast at parties, though if you play it drunk you’re pretty much guaranteed to lose. Drunk contenders are probably a part of why Draco’s never lost.”

“You say that like we’re meant to be impressed.” Ron said, sharing an eyeroll with Harry. They didn’t fight with the Slytherins these days - not even Draco - but they weren’t quite friends, either. “But since we don’t know what the game is about, or how often Malfoy even played, it’s hard to judge.” 

Harry nodded his agreement. “That’s true. Easy to retain an undefeated title if you only play the game once or twice, I’d imagine.”

“He’s played it loads.” Pansy said, waving off their comments dismissively. “He started playing it back in...what was it, Draco? Fifth Year?”

Draco - who was curled up in an armchair reading - didn’t even look up from his book. He simply hummed in agreement and turned the page.

Pansy didn’t seem bothered; she continued happily. “He challenged the champion at the time, of course, though everyone thought he was mad to do it. It was a Seventh Year, as I recall...”

“Trent.” Draco murmured the name fondly. He still hadn’t looked up from his book, but a soft smile curved his lips as his eyes kept moving over the page. “He was quite good.”

“You were better.” Blaise’s matter-of-fact statement drew a low, husky laugh from Draco. Eyes gleaming, Blaise continued. “Wonder if I could beat you now...it’s been a while since I tried.”

Still laughing, Draco slid a bookmark into his book and closed it. He stood and stretched, rolling his eyes at his oldest friend. “You’re more than welcome to try, Blaise. I plan on graduating with my title still in place, though.”

If he’d been paying more attention - rather than saying a polite goodnight to everyone - Draco might have realized the inherent challenge in his words. Words he’d uttered in front of a group of highly obstinate Gryffindors. As it was, he went off to his room without giving the game much more thought.

As soon as he was gone, Dean was leaning towards Pansy eagerly. “Explain the game.”

Pansy caught the determined gleam in the eyes of many of her year-mates and couldn’t help the wicked grin that spread across her face; this could be interesting. “It’s pretty simple. The point of Too Hot is to make the other player lose control.” Pansy explained it as succinctly as she could. “The two players kiss, touching nowhere except their mouths. The player who reaches out and touches the other one first is the loser.”

She hesitated for a moment, then decided full-disclosure was for the best and added. “The winner gets a prize as well. A forfeit, if you will. They get to do one thing of their choosing to the loser.”

“Oh, it’s not as bad as all that!” Blaise laughed at the way several of the gathered students had flinched. “For Draco, keeping his title is satisfying enough. His prizes are never anything bad.”

“That’s true.” Pansy agreed, nodding her head quickly. “He always claims something simple or innocent. A quick kiss, or the right to choose their outfit for the next Hogsmeade weekend. Once, he demanded the right to style Georgie’s hair.”

Georgina Runcorn - who had gorgeous auburn hair that fell in stylish curls to just past her shoulders - laughed in delight. “It looked amazing, too. I’ve never been able to manage that style quite right, so when I eventually get married I’m making him recreate it.”

That drew laughs from almost everyone before the conversation turned again. But Pansy noticed several of her classmates sending speculative looks at the staircase up to the dorms; the one her best friend had disappeared up. The Slytherin girl couldn’t help smiling to herself. She had a feeling Draco was going to find his title challenged quite a lot, quite soon.

She couldn’t wait. This was going to be _fun._

~❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄~

If she’d taken the time to consider how long it would take for the Gryffindors to rise to the challenge, Hermione would have given them a week. Perhaps ten days, if there was a Hogsmeade weekend or a Quidditch match going on during that time. She would _not_ have expected it to be a week into December, with no one having made an attempt. But then, the Slytherins had been systematically trying - and failing - during that time, and the Gryffindors seemed content to watch before rushing in. If the war had taught them anything, it was the value of a good strategy.

Finally - after Blaise failed for the _third_ time - Hermione’s curiosity could no longer be contained. “So the only rule is that the person who touches first loses?”

Pansy nodded, eyes bright from laughter as Draco attempted to go back to his homework and fix his hair - mussed by Blaise’s fingers - at the same time. “Well, and you have to keep kissing, obviously. But yes. It’s really a terribly simple game.”

Hermione pursed her lips for a moment, then set her book aside and stood. “I want to try.” She declared, approaching the couch Draco was on with a determined gleam in her eye. “I think you Slytherins just don’t have enough experience with resisting temptation.”

Draco snorted, looking up at Hermione in disbelief. “Granger, Slytherin _First Years_ have more experience with temptation than most Seventh Year Gryffindors. Trust me.”

“I’m not most.” Hermione replied, grinning. “I’ve been tempted by Voldemort himself, when he was at his most persuasive. I think I can handle a kiss from you.”

Giving Hermione a considering look, the blonde nodded slowly. “Alright then, Granger. Let’s see what you’ve got, shall we?”

Hermione settled onto the sofa beside Draco, very careful to keep a couple of inches between their bodies at all points. Then she turned halfway towards him, closed her eyes, and tipped her face up. Draco blinked, then rolled his eyes and muttered. “Of course you’re going to make me start...figures.”

Despite his words, Draco obligingly leaned down and pressed his lips to Hermione’s. Her lips were soft beneath his, and not sticky with gloss like most girls’. Draco took a moment to appreciate that fact before he slid his tongue along the curve of her bottom lip. Hermione startled slightly, then leaned up into the pressure of Draco’s mouth and parted her lips. Boldly, her tongue moved to meet Draco’s; she was determined to give as good as she got.

The door to the Common Room opened and several more people in their year came in, laughing and joking and boisterous. Not separating from Draco’s mouth, Hermione opened her eyes and glanced towards the new noise. Ron and Harry were part of the group and both of them froze at the sight of Hermione kissing Draco Malfoy. 

Ron was red-faced and furious in an instant, but Harry quickly noticed the distance between Hermione and Draco. He grabbed Ron’s arm and said loudly. “Trying to get that title for yourself, ‘Mione?”

The girl waved her hand in a gesture of agreement, careful not to touch Draco, then closed her eyes and tried to focus on kissing the boy in front of her. Ron was still glaring, but he no longer seemed in danger of lunging at the pair, so Harry let him go. They were just circling the assembled, watching group - made up of Draco’s Slytherins and a handful of Ravenclaws who’d been studying together with Hermione - when the Gryffindor girl startled.

A strangled whimper - muffled in part by Draco’s mouth - escaped Hermione. Harry watched curiously as a muscle shifted along Draco’s jaw - he wondered what precisely the blonde was _doing_ \- and then Hermione was lunging forward, her hands clutching at Draco’s hair as she pressed their mouths closer together. For a moment, Draco allowed it. Then he reached up to capture her wrists and gently eased the panting, trembling girl away from him.

For a long moment, the only sound was Hermione’s heavy breathing. Then Draco said softly. “You lasted longer than Blaise, anyway. Not bad, Granger. I’ll be dressing you for Hogsmeade next weekend, for my forfeit. Just so you know.”

Hermione blinked slowly, her eyes glassy, and managed weakly. “Oh, well...thank you. I...that was...well. I can see why you keep...keep winning. Right then.” She cleared her throat and shook her head, standing abruptly and moving hurriedly back to her things, which she began clumsily shoving into her bag. “I think I’ll just...go to bed. Goodnight everyone.”

Everyone watched her go, then Pansy giggled. “One Gryffindor down...”

“Really, Pans.” Draco rolled his eyes as he relaxed into the back of the sofa. “Your obsession with the idea of me being dethroned is a bit taxing. And Granger’s just too curious for her own good. The rest of this lot wouldn’t dream of snogging me, challenge or not.”

“Actually...” Everyone turned to stare at Seamus in shock. Well, everyone except his four roommates, who just rolled their eyes because Seamus was notoriously loose. “I think I’ll give it a try. Looked like a fair bit of fun from over here.”

“Really?” Draco sounded utterly skeptical and was giving Seamus a hesitant look. “Are you by any chance drunk, Finnegan? Because we have class in the morning.”

“Sober as a judge, just at the moment.” Seamus smiled good-naturedly as he dropped heavily into the seat Hermione had vacated.

Harry was the one to snort this time as he sat down beside one of the Patil twins. Padma, he thought, though he wasn’t positive. “Don’t worry, Malfoy. Seamus won’t give you much trouble. He’s got less will power than a toddler. Might as well just get it over with.”

Seamus just shrugged, still grinning, and Draco sighed before leaning in and capturing the other boy’s mouth. He didn’t bother with finesse this time, the way he had with Hermione; part of Draco’s undefeated status was because he liked to vary his method based on who he was kissing. Seamus was a greedy sort when it came to pleasure and fun, so Draco immediately sucked the Gryffindor’s lower lip into his mouth, nibbling for a moment before licking his way past Seamus’ lips. A couple of seconds - and a few creative licks - later, and Seamus was trying to crawl onto Draco’s lap.

Laughing, Draco broke the kiss. “Goodness, Finnegan; you’re an eager little thing, aren’t you?”

Seamus shrugged, not embarrassed in the slightest despite the others who were snickering behind him. “In the right circumstances, why not?” Then he gave Draco a sly look and wiggled a bit, still perched on Draco’s lap where he’d insinuated himself. “So, what’s the forfeit, then?”

Draco laughed again, unable to help himself, and rolled his eyes. “I’m feeling generous, Finnegan, so I’ll take a kiss.”

Seamus grinned before leaning down to press a deep, drugging kiss to Draco’s smiling mouth. Not worried about losing a game this time, Draco let himself enjoy the playful - if slightly sloppy - way the Irish boy kissed, settling his hands lightly on Seamus’ hips to keep the Gryffindor still. It was a nice enough kiss, as far as Draco was concerned, but nothing that was going to make him lose his head - or his inhibitions - and convince him he ought to shag a Gryffindor. So after a couple of minutes, he nudged Seamus back.

Ignoring Seamus’ pout - and the big puppy eyes he was being given - Draco said. “Very nice, Finnegan, but I’m afraid you’re just not my type.”

“Hmmph.” Seamus dropped to the sofa beside Draco and crossed his arms, looking sulky for a moment. It didn’t last long, though; he perked back up a minute later. “Well, more or not, that was a right fantastic snog, Malfoy. I can see why Blaise keeps trying.”

There was more laughter, then the group settled down once more. Several people drifted off to go to sleep, while the others settled into studying or homework or quiet chatter. And Draco - rather foolishly - believed that to be the end of Gryffindors snogging him.

~❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄~

No one was surprised - except for Draco - when, after a couple of days of Seamus enthusing over Draco’s _‘talents’_ the other Gryffindor girls lined up to try. Padma Patil fell in line with them, despite being a Ravenclaw, and kissed Draco just after her twin did. Neither of them lasted long. None of the other girls did much better. Draco’s forfeit from each was a pat on the bum, which served to make all of the girls giggle as they formed a line for that, too. Draco was laughing as well, and everyone was quite aware that he seemed to take the whole thing as one rather large joke.

~❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄~

When Draco came downstairs on Saturday morning, he looked rather smug. The reason for that became apparent a moment later when he gestured behind himself and declared. “I present, the newly improved Hermione Granger.”

Blushing, Hermione descended the stairs behind Draco and stopped beside the blonde. Ron’s jaw hit the floor; Harry couldn’t blame him. Hermione was wearing eggplant-purple leggings under a daringly-short black pleated skirt. Her calves were encased in attractive knee-high winter boots - also black - that were topped with a two-inch cuff of soft grey fur. Her top was the same deep purple as her leggings, with sleeves that were tight to her elbows before flaring out into wide bells at her wrists. Beneath the wide bells, black netting clung to Hermione’s forearms, ending in a ‘V’ on the back of her hands, with a piece of elastic looped around each of her middle fingers. The scooped neckline bared most of her shoulders, and a fair portion of the high curve of her breasts. The curve of her waist was emphasized by a black waist-cincher, which laced from just under her breasts down to where her hips flared out.

Her hair had been tamed - with what, only she and Draco probably knew - into a high ponytail. It tumbled down from it’s gathering point at the crown of her head in a cascade of thick, riotous, corkscrew curls and managed to look wild but elegant at the same time. Purple, silver, and white eyeshadow framed Hermione’s chocolate brown eyes, and her lips were a soft, shimmering pink. Draco had even gone so far as to do her nails - purple with silver tips.

Hermione seemed nervous as she awaited judgment - her cheeks were flushed and she was fidgeting - but it didn’t last long. Pansy spoke first. “I swear, you look better in my shirt than I do! So not fair, Granger.” She sighed in a put-upon manner, but was smiling. “Draco’s fantastic, isn’t he?”

Cheeks still bright red, Hermione nodded. “He is, really. Though I was a bit panicked when he decided to, um...adjust...things...” Hermione waved her hands over her own torso as she spoke, leaving no room for misunderstanding what, precisely, Draco had been _adjusting._

The Slytherin girls all laughed uproariously; it was clear they had all experienced the same thing at one point or another. “He’s all business about that, trust me.” Daphne Greengrass gave her own - rather impressive - breasts a little bounce and added. “If _these_ didn’t merit a squeeze, I doubt any will.”

Draco rolled his eyes, moving away from Hermione to Blaise’s side, studying her from a bit of a distance now, the way an art connoisseur studies a painting. ‘“I wish you owned more jewelry, Hermione. You’re sadly lacking in the accessories department and I didn’t think to borrow any from the girls.”

The gathered girls - Slytherin, Gryffindor, and a few from the other two Houses - exchanged looks before they all rushed up to their dorms. When Draco winked at her, Hermione couldn’t help giggling. Draco really was spectacular at subtle manipulation.

Ron was scowling at Draco. “Since when do you use her given name, Malfoy?”

“Since I’ve seen her naked and had my hands on her breasts, Weasley.” Draco’s voice was bored, but he shot Hermione another wink, making her giggle again. “Seemed a mite rude to call her Granger after that.”

“Really, Draco...” Hermione laughed aloud, rolling her eyes in exasperation as Ron went redder than normal and began to stutter indignantly. “Ron, _calm down._ Draco is gay.”

For a moment Ron didn’t say anything, then he turned a speculative look on Draco. “You like blokes?”Draco nodded, his facial expression saying he clearly thought that was obvious. “Any interest in gingers?”

Draco choked on his own spit.

“Excuse me?” He finally managed after several seconds of coughing and flailing. “Weasley, _please_ tell me you did _not_ just come on to me! And in front of your girlfriend, to boot.”

“What? Eugh, gross! _No.”_ Ron made a face, while Draco looked relieved. “No. My older brother is gay, though, and he’s just moved back to England - temporary, or so he says - and he’s not seeing anyone, but if he is maybe he won’t go back to Romania.”

“Romania?” Draco arched an eyebrow. “Would this be the dragonologist-brother, then?” Ron nodded and Draco’s expression turned shrewd. “He’s quite fit, actually...not bad for a ginger at all...”

After a moment’s consideration, Draco nodded. “Tell him if he’s interested, he can send me an owl and we can arrange a meet-up over Christmas hols. He can buy me a drink and...well, we’ll just see where it goes from there.”

Ron nodded absently, his attention mostly on Hermione again as Pansy and Daphne sifted through jewelry gathered by all the girls, deciding what the Gryffindor girl ought to wear by holding various pieces up to her, or making her try them on. Georgina was offering her spare cloak - black with white fur lining - for Hermione to wear, and a Ravenclaw girl named Lisa was insisting her purple and silver gloves were far better suited than Susan Bone’s black and white ones. The whole process was a bit baffling to Ron, but the way Hermione was smiling and laughing was what mattered to him. While he thought Hermione looked beautiful when she was surrounded by books, her hair a mess and ink smudging her fingers, Ron knew that Hermione had never really fit in with the other girls and that part of her hated that. Of course, he only knew that because Ginny had said so, but still.

Now, however, thanks to Draco Malfoy, she had the other girls vying for her attention, all of them eager to lend her pretty things to wear. The way Ron figured it, the least he could do was set Draco up with his older brother. After all, Draco had made Hermione happy.

~❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄~

Neville was actually the one who tried next, much to the stunned disbelief of...well... _everyone._ “I just think the problem is the lack of straight guys trying.” Neville explained as he braced his hands on the arms of the comfy chair Draco was lounging in, putting himself in Draco’s personal space. “Ready?”

Draco smirked. “Whenever you are, Longbottom. Prepare to doubt your sexuality.”

Neville leaned down and pressed their mouths together, all Gryffindor brashness and enthusiasm, determined to win. Draco let his mouth go soft beneath Neville’s, inviting the other boy in. With no resistance, and with Draco’s lips and tongue pliant and sweet, Neville instinctively gentled his kiss, just as Draco had expected. Draco parted his lips a little further, tipping his head slightly and letting out a quiet sigh against the Gryffindor’s mouth. 

Without thinking, Neville brought one hand up and gently cradled Draco’s cheek. The moment he did, Draco nipped the tongue exploring his mouth, just hard enough to have Neville jerking back in surprise. Grinning, Draco purred. “Another one falls to the greatness that is _me._ Still sure you’re straight?”

Neville stared at him in shock for a moment, then laughed. “Yes, Malfoy. I’m still sure I prefer fanny to cock, despite your kissing skill.”

The crudeness of his language went largely unnoticed, primarily because neither Hermione nor any of the Hufflepuff girls were around. The upside of an Eighth Year Common Room - no need to worry about corrupting the younger kids unintentionally.

Draco spread his legs and pointed to the floor between his feet. “Alright, then. Shirt off, and kneel here, facing away from me.” He then eyed Neville and amended. “Actually, sit instead. You’re really rather tall and I need you at a comfortable height.”

Confused, but willing to indulge Draco since none of his claimed forfeits had been horrible so far, Neville swiftly complied.

Which would be why Ron and Harry came in from supervising the final Quidditch practice before hols to see Neville moaning as Draco gave him what was clearly a _fantastic_ massage. Harry laughed. “Gave it a go, did you, Nev?”

“Totally worth snogging Malfoy...” Neville slurred, sounding a bit drunk. “He’s great at this. Don’t know why he chose it for the forfeit, but Merlin, I’m _not_ complaining...” He trailed off with another moan.

“Have to keep my talents honed somehow, now don’t I, Longbottom?” Draco dug his fingers into a particularly stubborn knot, just below Neville’s left shoulder blade, and ignored the resulting groan as the muscle finally began to loosen. “Salazar, you’re tense...if you need another massage at all, please let me know. Seriously.”

Ron looked away, face pink, and asked weakly. “Have you, erm, heard from Charlie, Malfoy? He sent Ginny an owl asking if she thought you were fit enough for him to give it a go and I know she said yes, so...”

“Hmmm?” Draco glanced up, then smiled. “Oh, yes. We’re getting together on Tuesday, at The Three Broomsticks, for a drink and a meet. So we’ll see how that goes, I suppose.”

Ron nodded, then asked. “If it goes well, I imagine you won’t be playing the game anymore.”

Draco let out a sharp, startled laugh. “Goodness, Weasley, whatever makes you think that?” Rolling his eyes, his hands still moving over Neville’s back and shoulders, he added. “Of course, I’d explain to Charlie about the game. So he’s aware. But it’s only a game, after all.”

Ron frowned in disapproval, and Seamus piped up. “You could always try beating him before he goes on that date, Ron! If he’s lost, he won’t have any reason to keep playing, after all.”

Ron pulled a face and stomped away, with Harry rolling his eyes and following after.

~❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄~

It took until Monday for Ron to decide he was going to try. He had finally given in, mostly because of Hermione. Several more people had tried to best Draco - including a fourth try by Blaise and a second, then third, try by Seamus - and Ron had whined that there was no way Draco was _that_ good of a kisser. Hermione had then primly stated that if Ron was _so certain_ then he should kiss Draco himself and prove it. So it was that, amidst the Eights decorating their Common Room for Christmas (which was on Friday) with garland and shiny baubles and a sprig or two of mistletoe, Ron stormed over to where Draco was lounging.

The blonde was on the floor at Pansy’s feet, sprawled across the comfy rug that was spread in front of the large, roaring fireplace, reading a book. He did that a lot, actually - read books, not sprawled himself across the floor. Ron didn’t think he’d ever seen Draco on the floor before. It seemed like a very undignified sort of thing to do; very un-Malfoy-ish. Or something.

Draco glanced up as Ron’s shadow fell across his book. “Weasley.” He drawled, raising an eyebrow. “Can I help you with something? If not, you’re in my light.”

Ron growled. “I’m challenging you, okay? So stand up and let’s get it over with.”

Draco’s other eyebrow winged up, joining the first somewhere near his hairline. “Well, aren’t you just the charming gentleman.”

But he marked his page in the book and stood, brushing off his long-sleeved tee-shirt and the loose cotton sleep pants he had on as he did so. Then he gestured vaguely to the air. “Have at it.”

Ron was easily the _least_ -subtle kisser Draco had ever been snogged by. If Draco had ever seen Ron kiss Lavender Brown, he might have given up rather than allow the other boy to maul him. Since he hadn’t - and since Hermione had apparently not taught Ron how to kiss _properly_ \- Draco was startled by Ron’s attack on his face. Huffing in horrified surprised as Ron essentially slobbered on him while trying to suck his lips off his face, Draco decided he was going to have to end this _very quickly._ Then he was going to have to teach Ron an important lesson, for the sake of his poor girlfriend, who Draco had become oddly fond of.

Draco opened his mouth as wide as he could - to help mitigate the horrid face-swallowing effect of Ron’s ineptitude - and waited impatiently for Ron to deepen the kiss. Thankfully it wasn’t long before Ron’s tongue found its way into Draco’s mouth. Draco didn’t hesitate. He closed his lips around the appendage and _sucked,_ rather forcefully.

Ron’s reaction was instantaneous.

He jerked forward, his hands landing on Draco’s narrow waist and fisting in the cotton of his shirt. Draco immediately stepped back, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth with a disgusted look painted across his face. “Good god, Weasley, who taught you how to kiss? I don’t know how Hermione puts up with you slobbering all over her, but that is just _unacceptable.”_

Ron released Draco instantly, face bright red, jaw clenched, hands curled into tight fists at his sides. Draco sighed, rolling his eyes and taking pity on the other teen. “Come here, then. I’ll use my forfeit to show you what you’re doing wrong.”

Ron was tense as Draco moved his body into the taller teen’s, one hand curling around the back of Ron’s neck and gently tugging him down. The first thing Draco did - gross as it was - was open his mouth too far and slobber all over Ron the way the ginger had been doing to him before. Ron pulled away almost instantly, making a face, and Draco just waited.

After a moment, Ron said. “Oh. Gross.”

“Quite right.” Draco agreed with a pointed look. “This time, follow along and imitate.”

Draco pulled Ron’s head back down and opened his mouth only a little; just enough to let breath pass between their lips. Ron obediently followed along, forehead scrunched up in concentration. When Draco slowly deepened the kiss, Ron startled against him before relaxing into it, his hands once again gripping Draco’s shirt, just at his waist. Draco continued the kiss for a minute longer, just to be sure Ron had the hang of it, then slowly ended the kiss before stepping back.

Ron just blinked at him, looking confused and a little lost. Draco took it as a sign of early-onset dementia that rather than finding Ron annoying, he thought he looked like an adorable, awkward puppy. Too much time around non-Slytherins, he decided, was making him soft. He had, after all, just taught his childhood rival how to kiss. The whole thing was highly suspect.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Draco waved a dismissive hand at Ron, trying to shoo him away. “Now that I’ve done my good deed for the century, run along. You’re still in my light.”

Ron obligingly shuffled off and Draco sank back down to the carpet with a huff, ignoring Pansy as she giggled and nudged him with her foot. Pesky girl kept teasing him about the dissolution of House rivalries, and his own part in it via this Merlin-forsaken-game. And Draco was just _not_ in the mood to hear it. Stubbornly refusing to acknowledge her, Draco focused on his book.

~❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄~

Draco nervously pushed a wayward strand of hair out of his eyes. He had listened to Hermione and the littlest Weasley - the girl; Ginny - when they’d told him not to slick his hair back for his date. Hermione’s argument was that he looked unapproachable with his hair styled that way. Ginny simply stated that it made him look stuffy, and Charlie was really laid back. Bill might have been super-cool with his long hair and earring, but Charlie was easily the most fun and relaxed of her brothers.

Draco was wearing skin-tight black leather pants, mostly because they made him feel confident. His ass looked spectacular in them, in fact. Draco was nervous enough to want the ego-boost that accompanied wearing them. He had his dark green dragonhide boots on, because Ginny had assured him they wouldn’t offend her dragonologist brother, and a super-soft grey tee-shirt. Over the tee-shirt was a long-sleeved button up shirt - Draco did his best to keep the remnants of his Mark covered - made of fabric charmed to shimmer through several shades of green, all the way to almost-black. It was one of Draco’s absolute favorite shirts. He had also allowed Pansy to put eyeliner on him, though he was terrified of it smudging; he kept catching himself almost touching his eyes. Draco absently wondered how he’d never before noticed just how often he did so.

Tamping down his nerves, Draco stepped into the pub, bringing with him a burst of wintery air and swirling snow. He hung his cloak on a hook by the door, then nervously scanned the room. When the first pass revealed no gingers, he made a second - slower - pass. Still no red hair. Damn. Draco pouted at having arrived first and headed towards the bar, intending to order himself a drink while he was waiting. If nothing else, it would give him something to do with his hands besides fidget.

Madam Rosmerta spotted him halfway across the room, though, and waylaid him. “Draco, dear...you’re to go sit in that booth over there.” She pointed with a sweet smile. Ever since Draco had apologized to her and offered to pay for the damage done to her pub during the Final Battle - an offer she had happily accepted, actually - she had been quite friendly towards him. “Charlie Weasley said so. And a right handsome lad you’ve caught yourself, I must say. He’s hitting the head, just now, and won’t be but a moment. I’ll come and take your orders as soon as he joins you.”

Draco felt his cheeks flush, but he nodded and smiled his thanks as he headed towards the booth she’d pointed at. His eyes went to the little hallway that housed the loo, but he dragged his gaze away almost immediately. Partly because of things he’d rather not remember, but mostly because he didn’t want to be caught staring when Charlie came out. So he looked out the diamond-shaped window cut into the wall beside the booth, though it’s wavy glass made it an exercise in futility. All he could really see was white, and he’d known from the walk over that it was snowing so that wasn’t surprising. Still, it was something to look at, so he kept staring.

A voice - deep and rich and oh-so-warm - sounded from his left, making him turn and blink wide grey eyes up at the man speaking. “Of course you showed up while I was in the loo. Just my luck.” A large, calloused hand was held out. “I’m Charlie.”  
‘  
“Yes, I know.” Draco smiled nervously and held out his hand as well, sliding it into the rough, firm grasp of the dragon handler. “I’m Draco, obviously.”

Charlie didn’t shake Draco’s hand; he simply held it for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over Draco’s palm - smooth, save for the few callouses caused by his broom. After a minute, Charlie released Draco and sat down across from him, asking. “Do I meet your expectations?”

Draco let his gaze drift over Charlie assessingly. Unlike Ron - who was tall and lanky - Charlie was short. Or comparatively short, at least. He was still taller than Draco, by at least an inch or two. He had a stockier, more muscled build as well - rather like his twin brothers - with broad shoulders and arms Draco thought could probably lift him with ease. His skin was fair, beneath the intense freckling and the dull red color that Draco suspected came more from dragons’ flames than from the sun. He had scars - on his hands, his arms, and even a faint one along the right side of his face, from his hairline down to his jaw - but they didn’t make him any less handsome. His blue eyes were warm and open; friendly. His hair was darker than Ron’s - less orangey and more deep red - and curled a bit; it was longer than the time Draco had glimpsed him during the Triwizard Tournament and longer than during the Final Battle as well, falling in a tousled way that said Charlie probably ran his hands through it a lot.

He was wearing denims - dark blue - and clunky brown work boots that made him look capable. His tee-shirt was Gryffindor-red, and stretched tight across a muscled chest. Under the edge of one sleeve was the bottom edge of a tattoo - a Norwegian Ridgeback, if Draco wasn’t mistaken - and the Slytherin found himself wondering if perhaps Charlie had ink anywhere else. A leather jacket was bunched on the seat beside Charlie, which Draco had noted when he’d taken his own seat while waiting for the other man to return from the bathroom. Draco imagined it looked fantastic on him.

Finally, Draco locked gazes with the redhead and said slowly. “You’re more than acceptable. Very fit. I have to wonder...that is, I’m not sure why you...” Draco trailed off, not quite sure how to say what he wanted to ask, or even why he was asking at all.

Charlie, however, understood. “Why I agreed to go on a date with a Malfoy?” Draco nodded, eager to hear the answer but anxious about it as well.

Just then, Rosmerta bustled over, smiling but looking a bit harried. “Merlin, but there’s a crush in here for a Tuesday evening! What’ll you lads have, then?”

Draco didn’t even think before ordering; he was rather used to being a student and only allowed to order certain things. He wasn’t quite used to being an adult yet. “A butterbeer, please.”

Rosmerta nodded and turned to Charlie, who was grinning at Draco in an amused sort of way. “I’ll have a Dragon’s Breath, Rosie, my love; my heart; my darling. A highball, please, rather than a shot.”

Rosmerta laughed, smacking Charlie fondly on the shoulder with her pad. “You’re a terrible flirt, dear, but it does an old woman’s heart good, that’s a fact. I’ll have your drinks in a minute.”

“You’re not old yet, Rosie; the blush of youth still glows in your cheeks.” Charlie snagged her hand as she laughed again and he gave her a pleading look. “When will you finally agree to marry me, dear? I pine for you something terrible when we’re apart.”

“As I’ve said before, too many times to count...” Rosmerta teased right back. “When you’ve a castle to house me, a crown for me to wear, and a tame dragon to guard me, I’ll happily be your bride. But not a moment sooner, and that’s a fact.”

She walked away, hips swinging enough to catch the eye of several men, and Charlie turned back to Draco with that easy smile still curving his lips. “So...what were we talking about, then?” He paused for a second, then said. “Oh, of course. Why I’m here.”

Draco nodded numbly, oddly charmed by how incredibly sweet and relaxed Charlie Weasley was. Charlie hummed for a moment, then said in a low, warm tone that all-but dripped honey. “I suppose I’ve just always had a soft spot for dragons. And I _never_ pass up the opportunity to ride one.”

Charlie’s daring wink had Draco letting out a startled laugh. Giving Charlie an assessing look, Draco said pointedly. “I’m not sure if I ought to be insulted by that, or flattered, actually.”

“Well, I’ve found that if you’ve got the choice, flattered is always the better option.” Charlie’s smile, Draco decided, really was quite disarming. “And in the interest of fairness, I have to ask. What made you agree to date a Weasley? Thought we were a bit beneath you.”

“Don’t think much of anyone is beneath a former Death Eater.” Draco said softly, eyes darting away for a moment before coming back to Charlie’s face. He refused to shy away from what he’d done; from his mistakes. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Charlie said quietly, looking apologetic. “I hope you know that. And I hope you aren’t here with me because you feel like you don’t have a better choice. Or to try to make amends. I wouldn’t want a date for that reason alone.”

Draco’s throat felt tight and he looked away as Rosmerta placed their drinks in front of them. He curled his hands around the thick glass of the stein, savoring the heat as it sank into his palms. Charlie’s drink - served in the highball glass he’d asked for - was electric-blue, with silver smoke pouring off the top and spilling down the sides in an endless stream. Charlie thanked her, the two teased back and forth a bit, and Draco stared intently down at the foam on his butterbeer until she walked away.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Draco said simply. “I almost said no. Not because I wasn’t interested, or because I thought one or the other of us wasn’t worthy. Just because it was my first instinct to say no to dating a Weasley.” He glanced up and admitted. “That seemed like a rather stupid reason not to go on a date with a fit, interesting bloke, though. So I said yes instead.”

Charlie’s sensual lips curved upwards again. “Well, I’m rather glad you did.” He picked up his glass and blew lightly across the top, momentarily clearing the smoke so he could take a sip. “So, Draco...tell me something about yourself.”

“I...” Draco hesitated, unsure of what he was supposed to say. He’d never been on a proper date before, or ever really spoken to someone who wasn’t either a classmate or someone who knew his parents; he didn’t even know where to start. “I have a fondness for animals.”

Charlie blinked, then said. “Do you really, now? Is that all animals, then, or only certain ones? Because I seem to remember hearing about an incident when you were younger...something to do with a hippogriff, if I recall the story right?”

Draco blushed, sighing heavily. “Weasley would have told you about that, of course.” Charlie laughed and Draco realized instantly why. “Sorry; habit. I meant Ron, obviously.”

When Charlie just nodded, still chuckling, Draco continued.

“Well, I was thirteen. Not the brightest move, really, insulting a hippogriff.” Draco shrugged, but a smile was tugging at his lips. “No, it’s all animals, really. I’ve a special fondness for certain ones, though. Cats, Kneazles, horses of any sort, snakes...and dragons.”

“What’s your favorite kind of dragon?” Charlie asked, sipping at his drink again, curiosity etched across his face. Draco suspected this was a test of sorts, but didn’t mind.

After a moment’s thought, Draco said. “I think my favorite is the Peruvian Vipertooth. They’re small, but wicked-fast and terribly vicious. They’re beautiful.”

Charlie nodded and offered. “I’ve ridden one.” Seeing the disbelief on Draco’s face, Charlie laughed and explained. “Sometimes the dragons don’t stay where we want them. When that happens, we’ve got to corral them as fast as possible. Vipertooths are notoriously hard to herd, because of how fast they fly. We have to use Thestrals to get close, then someone gets to jump on the dragon’s back.”

Draco sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide and stunned, leaning eagerly across the table. “That sounds awfully dangerous...can you steer them once you’re on their back?”

“Not in the slightest.” Draco laughed at Charlie’s dry answer. “But once they’ve got a rider, they twist and roll and buck, trying to get the witch or wizard off. It helps slow them down. If they can’t shake the rider, they’ll eventually drop to the ground to try to get them off by rolling around. Once they’re close enough to the ground, the rider jumps off and the other keepers stun the dragon, which is moved back to where we want it once it’s unconscious.”

“Wow.” Draco resisted the urge to simper; Charlie was unbelievable. “I am so jealous of you right now, but I’m also terribly glad I’ve never been in that sort of danger.” Charlie just shrugged, so Draco asked. “What’s your favorite?”

“It’s hard to choose, working as closely with them as I do.” Charlie admitted. He pulled up his tee-shirt sleeve and said. “Ridgebacks are probably it, because the first dragon I ever got to hand-raise - and then see have a clutch all her own after successfully finding a mate - was a Ridgeback. And she’s my sweetheart, no matter how much she’s grown or how dangerous she is, trust me. And really, I wanted to thank you because you’re the reason I got her.”

Draco thought for a second, then gasped. “The baby dragon Hagrid had! It was a Ridgeback, of course; I knew that. But I never knew what they did with it. You raised her?”

“As much as any wizard can raise a dragon.” Charlie finished his drink, then nodded at the butterber Draco hadn’t even sipped. “Want a new one?”

“What?” Draco glanced down at his drink - which was no longer hot - and snorted. “No, thank you. I don’t even like hot butterbeer. I just ordered it out of habit.” He nudged the mug away from himself and rolled his eyes, before adding. “I wouldn’t mind a glass of wine, though. White.”

Charlie laughed again, making Draco’s face flush with embarrassment. “Merlin, Draco...you’re something else, you know that? White wine it is. I’ll be right back.”

Draco watched him go, chewing nervously in his lip as he watched the confident, easy roll of Charlie’s hips. It was a sexy, dangerous walk; the walk of a predator. Draco wondered how much of a slag he’d come off as if he threw himself at Charlie and begged the older man to fuck him. Probably not enough of one to make the dragonologist refuse, but possibly enough to make him decide against a second date. Sighing, Draco resigned himself to waiting a bit longer before putting sex on the table...on the table.

When Charlie came back, he was carrying a glass of white wine and another of the Dragon’s Breath drinks, complete with silver smoke. He set the wine in front of Draco, then settled across from him. Draco watched Charlie sip his drink - swallowing a rather large gulp of his wine at the same time - and found himself wondering what it tasted like.

The desire must have been written across his face, because Charlie held the glass out to him with a challenging lift of one eyebrow. “Here. Have a taste.”

Draco almost protested - the words _‘I’m not allowed’_ already forming on his tongue - when he realized he was _more_ than old enough to drink hard alcohol in a bar if he wanted to. Hell, he was drinking a glass of wine already. So he took the glass, startled by how cold the smoke was as it curled down over his fingers in wispy little spirals. That must be why Charlie blew it away. Draco imagined it was cold enough to make one’s teeth hurt, if they weren’t careful about it.

Blowing softly to clear some of the smoke, Draco brought the glass to his lips. He could smell the mint before it even hit his tongue and, because mint was a flavor he rather enjoyed, Draco wound up taking a larger swallow than he’d originally planned. The icy mint burst across his tongue, making his whole mouth feel cold and clean. A second later, Draco nearly dropped the glass as the alcohol burned its way down his throat. At the last second, Charlie rescued the drink from Draco’s suddenly numb fingers. Draco barely noticed; his attention was on trying to breathe. He coughed weakly, sucked in a deep breath, then coughed until his eyes began to water. His esophagus felt scorched; it was as though he’d sucked down a mouthful of Fiendfyre. He had no idea how Charlie had managed to drink it so calmly.

Charlie, for his part, was laughing so hard tears were leaking from his eyes. “Merlin, Draco, I didn’t think you’d try to gulp the damned thing! Are you alright?”

Still panting, eyes watery and throat stinging, Draco rasped. “What in the name of Salazar is in that god-awful drink? And what cruel person decided to try to disguise it with mint?”

Still laughing, Charlie gestured to Draco’s glass of wine. “Take a sip of that, then. Soothe your throat. Poor baby.”

Draco bristled at the teasing comment and snapped. “I’m not a child!”

Glaring defiantly when Charlie looked amused, Draco snatched the highball glass from in front of the redhead. Still fuming, he slammed the drink back in a few rapid swallows. Draco’s eyes watered, his throat burning like nothing he’d ever felt before. His mouth was flooded once more with the cool, crisp, clean taste of mint, and it was brutally unfair that something that tasted _so_ good could hurt _so_ much. Draco set the glass back on the table in front of Charlie - empty, but still smoking slightly - with hands he tried to pretend weren’t shaking. His breathing was shallow and ragged but he forced a smirk onto his lips, raising a single eyebrow at Charlie in a silent _‘so there’._

For a moment Charlie just stared, then he threw back his head and laughed - a deep, rich, full sound - before pinning Draco with sparkling blue eyes and a wide grin. “I think I’m really going to like you.” He admitted, sounding almost surprised.

Draco found himself smiling back, a warmth that had nothing to do with alcohol filling his chest and making him blush. Perhaps, Draco decided as Charlie ordered himself another drink and had Draco’s wine topped off, this had been a good idea after all.

~❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄~

By the time the date was supposed to end, Draco was almost reluctant to inform Charlie of the ongoing ‘Too Hot’ game he was engaged in. But Draco was - as a general rule - unfailingly honest, so tell him he did. Thankfully, Charlie proved himself as unflappably chill as he’d seemed. The idea of Draco’s undefeated title amused him. They wound up spending an extra two hours together, talking about various attempts students had made. During that time, Charlie decided a vaguely tipsy Draco needed to eat - proper food rather than pub fare - and they moved from the Three Broomsticks to a small restaurant a little ways up the street. They ate while talking more about the game, then moved on to discussing Charlie’s work and Draco’s career options.

So by the time Draco finally parted ways with the ginger dragonologist, the sky was dark and the snow was coming down fast and heavy. Charlie insisted on walking Draco back to the castle’s gates. For the sheer delight of Charlie’s company, Draco agreed without fuss. As Draco said goodbye, and prepared to slip inside the safety of the iron gates, Charlie pulled him into a kiss.

It was soft and sweet and slow; it was as easy and relaxed as Charlie himself. Draco let himself enjoy the slow, steady warmth of the kiss - and the solid heat of Charlie’s toned body against his own - for as long as he dared. But Draco wanted to give this a fair shake - and it seemed that Charlie did too - so he broke the kiss well before he would have liked and stammered out a goodbye. He rushed off through the gates and across the grounds, flushed and happy.

Charlie stared after the blonde Slytherin for several long moments - ignoring the cold and the snow - before Apparating back to his London flat with a quick turn, a quiet pop, and a thoughtful smile curving his sensual lips. Draco Malfoy was _not_ what he’d been expecting. Not at all.

~❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄~

 

On Christmas Eve, the Eights were throwing a Christmas party in their common room, inviting all the Sixth and Seventh year students who had opted to stay for the holidays. Hermione and Ginny had also corroborated on a party - in the Room of Requirement, of course - for the students in Fifth year and below, with permission from the Headmistress, obviously. So no one staying at the school would feel left out of the festivities, or lonely, regardless of their year or House. It was a first, and something they were all quite proud of.

In the week that had led up to the party - and, in a way, Draco’s date with Charlie - Draco found that nearly all of the female Eights intended to challenge him, in the hopes that he would choose to dress them for the party as his forfeit. As soon as Pansy told Draco this, he announced - in the interest of forestalling needless challenges - that the afternoon of the party all of the Eighth year girls - and himself - would dress together, in the dorm shared by Pansy, Georgina, and the other returned Slytherin females. He also declared that he would offer fashion consultant advice in the two days leading up to the event, to anyone who asked. After Draco’s announcements, the challenges had settled back down to just those who were determined to beat Draco. And, of course, Seamus, who seemed to just like snogging the Slytherin, despite Ron’s constant grumbling over it. Draco was, after all, unofficially-official with Charlie.

In fact, they had a second date scheduled for Boxing Day, and Draco was rather hoping for a fair bit more than just a kiss this time...even if he wound up coming across as a slag. 

The night before the party - and after his date - just when Draco had soundly trounced Ron at chess for the second time - though in fairness, Ron had won once as well - Seamus laughingly suggested that Harry ought to kiss Draco. The Irish boy teasingly declared that Draco giving Harry a makeover as a forfeit was likely the only way that Harry would look presentable at the party. Harry surprised Draco by laughing softly and asserting that he was more than capable of dressing himself, thank you very much.

Rolling his eyes in disbelief - Because really, had Potter looked in a mirror lately? Or, you know, ever? - he turned back to the chess board. Draco absently nodded in agreement to Ron’s demands for _‘best out of five’_ and determinedly pushed any thoughts involving Harry and kissing out of his mind.

Had Draco waited mere seconds longer to turn away, he might have noticed the speculative look that crept onto Harry’s face as he looked at his former rival.

As it was, Draco didn’t. But _Hermione_ did.

~❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄~

The Christmas party was in full swing by the time Harry made an appearance. Normally, Harry walking into a room full of people garnered a fair bit of notice, for obvious reasons. That notice was significantly reduced at Hogwarts. In part, because there were so many students who had fought in the Final Battle, so Harry wasn’t the only person of interest. And in part because they saw him every day, doing incredibly ordinary things - such as eating toast and studying for Transfiguration - so the novelty had worn a bit thin. For the same reasons - as well as because many of them knew how Harry felt about his privacy - Harry received almost no attention (of _that_ sort) amongst his fellow Eights.

Which he was _terribly_ grateful for, of course.

His entrance to the party, however, did _not_ go unnoticed. Heads turned and mouths fell open in shock at the sight of him. Harry was wearing skin-tight black leather trousers and a black tee-shirt that clung to his slim, toned chest and flat stomach. Someone - Hermione suspected Ginny, who remained close to Harry despite their breakup - had outlined Harry’s too-green eyes in black and his glasses were nowhere to be seen. His hair was as tousled as ever, but managed to look delightfully rumpled for once rather than untamable and messy. All-in-all, their Savior looked rather gorgeous.

Hermione had a feeling she knew _exactly_ why Harry had put so much effort into his appearance, and she silently wished him luck.

Harry, for his part, was nothing if not determined to do what he’d been thinking about for...well, for rather longer than he’d likely admit, but the last few weeks at least. He knew, however - after more than seven years of acquaintanceship - that brash, headstrong, Gryffindor-ish-ness was _not_ the way to go. So Harry’s Slytherin side had come out to play, and he had a _plan_. A devious, cunning, incredibly clever plan. Devised in part - okay, almost-entirely - by Ginny, but that wasn’t the point.

The point was, Harry had a plan and he was committed to following through with it, Gryffindor sensibilities be damned.

He greeted some friends, danced with Hermione, Ginny, and Luna respectively, and had a shot - or three - to boost his failing courage to _do this._ Then, when he finally felt ready, Harry took a deep breath and searched the crowded room, looking for two _very_ different people. They were essential to the plan and he needed to know where both were before he could start.

Thankfully, the two of them were rather distinctive and spotting them was easy enough. So was catching his ex-girlfriend’s eye once he’d located her - and _him_ \- to give her a nervous smile and a nod; the signal for her to do her part in things.

Then, palms sweating, Harry began to wend his way through the party goers, towards his target.

~❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄~

Draco swore softly under his breath when someone stumbled into him from behind, making him spill his drink. Not on himself, thankfully; he was far too graceful for _that_ sort of thing. Merely onto the floor. _But still._

He turned around, caustic words already forming on his tongue. They died, unspoken, when he came face-to-face - or nearly so - with a pair of vibrant green eyes, lined in black. Draco’s mind went blank and all he was left with was the question, _‘Have his eyes always been that green?’_ He imagined they had - _of course_ they had, because hadn’t the papers waxed poetic about them often enough over the years? - but somehow the kohl lining them coupled with the lack of pesky glasses made them seem, well, _greener._ It was unsettling, to say the least.

“Potter.” Draco said the name politely, then raised an eyebrow and tipped his head down to his now-empty glass, adding with a touch of sarcasm. “I suppose I wasn’t overly thirsty anyway.”

Harry blushed, then shrugged. “Sorry. I, er, may have had a bit more to drink than I’m used to. And I think the eyesight charm is wearing off a bit.” Harry shifted a step closer, making Draco’s eyes widen in surprise at their increased-proximity. “So, having fun?”

“But of course, Potter.” Draco answered smoothly despite the twisting of his insides; Malfoys never let themselves get unsettled. Especially not by Harry Potter. “I am fully committed to enjoying the holiday season, after all.”

Suddenly a little tingle of magic washed over them both, and Draco jerked back in startled surprise before looking around for the caster. Harry looked around as well, though he seemed unconcerned. Draco figured when you were the-Boy-Who-Lived, you _could_ be unconcerned about random persons casting unknown magic in your direction. As a former-Death Eater (even one who’d been pardoned due to age and circumstance, like Draco), he didn’t have that luxury. Unfortunately, the party had their common room rather crowded, and it was impossible to tell who might have done what to them.

Thankfully, the _what_ was discovered by Harry only moments later. Draco could have wilted in relief that it was something so... _juvenile._

“Mistletoe.” Harry mused, staring up at the unfurling plant, a small smile curving his lips. “Very holiday appropriate, wouldn’t you agree?” He dropped his eyes to Draco’s and added. “Shall we?”

Draco blinked, then said. “Why in the world would I bow to the whimsy of a plant, Potter?” He made a dismissive hand gesture, then started to walk away, tired of the nervous feeling Harry inspired.

The Slytherin stopped short with a yelp when a small shock ran through him before he could go more than two steps. Harry snorted, then pointed up at the mistletoe. “That’s a Weasley product, you tosser. You don’t just _walk away_ from one of them. We kiss, or we’re stuck.”

Draco huffed in annoyance, shooting the plant a cross look before facing Harry with a purposely-bored expression. “Fine then, Potter. Let’s get this over with.”

Harry nodded and took a step forward, then paused with a considering look. “You know...if we’re kissing anyway, might as well make it count, right?”

“What in the name of Salazar are you talking about, Potter?” Draco glanced back up at the offending plant for a moment, then raised an eyebrow at the Gryffindor while waiting for an answer.

A slow smile curved Harry’s full lips and he said, softly but firmly. “I suppose what I mean is, since we’ve got to kiss anyway, I’m challenging your title.” There was a moment of tense silence, then Harry added. “Unless you’re scared, of course.”

Draco’s chin came up, silver eyes flashing defiantly. “Of you? _Never._ Give it your best shot, Potter.” Draco sneered before he could stop himself, instinct and years of habit taking over in a second. “Let’s see what Gryffindor’s Golden Boy can dish out.”

“As opposed to Slytherin’s prince, you mean?” Harry snarked right back, but there was no heat to his words; it was just teasing. “I think I can handle it, Malfoy. And you.”

Glaring, Draco shifted as close to Harry as he could get without actually touching him and growled. “Bring it on, Potter. I want to spend the rest of the night savoring your defeat.”

In response, Harry tipped his face up, just slightly, and leaned in, pressing his mouth to Draco’s softly parted lips.

If Draco had ever thought about kissing Harry Potter - which he hadn’t because, really, it was _highly_ improbable, and he had never been given to flights of fancy - he would have imagined Harry to be hesitant, awkward, and fumbling. Not because he thought of the Gryffindor as generally inept - rivalry and insults aside - but simply because Harry was so completely socially inexperienced. He had only had that disastrous relationship with the Ravenclaw seeker - Chang - and then the fairly brief, if intense, thing with the girl-Weasley. Neither of those led Draco to believe that Harry had any great experience and he’d have assumed this particular round of Too Hot would be an easy win.

Of course, Draco had never _properly_ kissed anyone at all before he’d beaten Trent the first time he’d played, but he’d always considered himself an exception to the general rule.

What Draco hadn’t factored in, of course, was the rest of Harry’s personality. Because Harry, as it turned out, kissed the same way he fought.

After the initial press of lips, Harry dove in with every inch of his innate Gryffindor enthusiasm. His mouth was hot and forceful against Draco’s and the blonde parted his lips further without thought. Harry didn’t even hesitate; the moment Draco’s mouth opened, he thrust his tongue inside. As Harry’s tongue learned the line of Draco’s teeth, and the ridges of his palate, and the curve of his cheeks from the inside-out, Draco growled low in his throat and gave as good as he got.

His clever tongue danced around Harry’s, encouraging the brunette with teasing licks and light sucking and slightly too-hard nips. Harry’s hands had long-since curled into fists at his sides, every ounce of his stubbornness focused on making this kiss last as long as possible. Harry shifted a hair’s breadth closer, his head tipping further to the left as Draco growled again and angled his head the other way.

Draco had lost himself, almost since the first moment, in the chocolate and raspberry taste of Harry’s mouth, relishing the sweetness of the Savior on his wicked tongue. Harry was caught up in bitter coffee and sweet vanilla and the fact that it was _Draco Malfoy_ he was kissing. So neither boy noticed when the mistletoe’s magic released them. Or when a crowd gathered near, the Eights whispering to the Sixth and Seventh Years present about the game, everyone wondering who would emerge from this the victor.

Harry’s hands were curled so tightly that his nails were digging into his palms, blood welling in crescents under his skin, ready to drip the second flesh gave way. Then, just as Harry sucked on the agile tongue that had slipped past his own to explore his mouth, long-fingered hands carded through dark hair, pulling their mouths closer. Harry moaned, the sound torn from his throat only to be swallowed by Draco’s mouth, and his own hands came up, relaxing for a breath of time before clenching in the fabric of Draco’s black silk shirt, just at the small of his back; gathering the fabric into stinging palms, and pressing the rest of their bodies as tightly together as their lips.

It hadn’t registered in Harry’s mind that Draco had lost; that wasn’t why he had finally reached out and grabbed hold of the other teen. All that had clicked - all he _knew_ \- was that Draco had _touched him._ The Slytherin had grabbed hold of his hair and plundered his mouth and so Harry held on as well, determined to enjoy this for however long it lasted.

It wasn’t until the deafening cheers of the other students - all of whom were thrilled to bear witness to Draco’s defeat, even if they didn’t quite understand why Harry Potter was _still_ sucking face with Draco Malfoy, since he’d already won - filtered through the blood pounding in their ears that Harry and Draco finally tore their mouths apart.

But Draco’s hands were still tangled in Harry’s messy hair, and Harry was still pressing every inch of himself against Draco’s lithe frame, fingers clutching silk and brushing teasingly against the skin underneath, and neither boy seemed able to still the subtle rocking of their hips, or their panting breaths, or their furiously pounding hearts. And neither boy seemed to want to tear their eyes away, molten silver locked to emerald green, heated and full of want.

After a long moment of silence - on the part of Harry and Draco; the rest of the room was still going wild over the unexpected outcome of the kiss - Harry said breathlessly, and without much thought. “That was even better than I’d imagined.”

Draco’s eyes widened while Harry’s cheeks flushed with embarassed color as he realized what he’d just said; what he’d just _admitted._ A sly smile curved Draco’s kiss-swollen lips and he purred. “Think about me often, Potter?”

Harry’s mouth moved silently for a moment, cheeks still burning, then determination settled into his eyes. It had just occurred to Harry that _he_ had won; that _Draco_ had touched first. So his chin came up and, eyes gleaming, he declared softly. “Yes, actually. I do. In various ways, in various positions, and with a varying degree of clothing. Does that bother you?”

Draco stared at Harry in stunned silence for several heartbeats. It wasn’t all that long, really, but it was long enough for the hope and stubbornness to fade from Harry’s face, replaced with defeat; for his eyes and chin to drop and the color drain from his cheeks. Not one to make flashy, or bold, or _public_ declarations of feelings - such as the crush he’d had on Harry since before he was even old enough to know what it was he wanted from the other boy - Draco answered Harry’s words the only way he could.

He tightened his grip on Harry’s hair, dragging the slightly-shorter teen’s face back up to his, and crushed their lips together. He licked his way into Harry’s mouth, saying without words that Harry’s feelings were not one-sided; that they were returned. Harry moaned again, hands streaking up Draco’s back, beneath his shirt, his blunt nails digging into the skin beneath Draco’s shoulder blades as he tried to press himself even closer to the blonde. Draco laughed softly, the sound muffled against Harry’s mouth. He pulled back a little and rested his forehead against Harry’s, grinning down at him, his smile all teeth and wickedness.

“So, Potter...”

“Harry.” The brunette cut him off, earning him an eyeroll but not diminishing the smile any.

“So, _Harry.”_ Draco stressed the name teasingly, then pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s lips before continuing in a murmur. “Want to see my dorm room?”

Before Harry could answer, Ron’s furious bark cut through their haze of desire. “No, Malfoy, he _doesn’t,_ because he respects my brother too much to shag his boyfriend, even if his boyfriend is apparently a desperate slag!”

Harry and Draco _both_ blushed this time and sprang apart, looking quite guilty and, in Harry’s case, a bit ashamed because he had _completely_ forgotten about Charlie.

“I...Ron, I didn’t mean...I just...” Harry gave his best friend a pleading look, willing him to understand that his feelings for Draco Malfoy _long preceded_ Draco going on a date with Charlie.

Hermione laid a hand on Ron’s arm, eyes soft and understanding, and asked gently. “How long?”

Harry blushed brighter, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other before glancing at Draco nervously. Then he sighed and admitted. “Since Sixth Year, I suppose...maybe sooner. I don’t really...I mean, I didn’t _realize_ until...later. Recently, really. But...a while, obviously.”

Ignoring Harry’s stammering and blushing - and Ron’s stunned expression - Hermione turned to Draco and raised an eyebrow. “And you, Draco? How long?”

Draco’s fair skin flushed darkly, but his grey eyes flicked back to Harry and his voice came out level and firm when he answered. “Since Madam Malkin’s.”

Harry sucked in a stunned, audible breath, while Hermione and Ron shared confused looked. “What does _that_ mean?” Hermione never did like puzzles unless she could solve them.

It was Harry who answered. “The first time Draco and I met wasn’t on the train. It was when I went with Hagrid to get my school things for the first time. We were fitted for robes at the same time...”

“You put me in mind of a bedraggled kitten.” Draco admitted when Harry trailed off; his whole face softened as he remembered that meeting. “I rather wanted to take you home and keep you, and I didn’t even know your name.”

“You were a right prat.” Harry pointed out while rolling his eyes, though he was smiling. “I sort of wanted to kick you, actually.”

“I was _trying_ to impress you.” Draco muttered, pouting a bit and looking both embarrassed and sulky at the same time. “It’s not my fault I’d never spoken to a child who wasn’t as pureblooded as I was. I had no idea what to say, so I just said whatever popped into my head trying to keep your attention.”

“If you’ve liked him for that long, then why did you go on a date with my brother?” Ron snapped, seeming to find his voice at last.

Draco looked back over at Ron and shrugged awkwardly. “I thought he wasn’t interested. I didn’t even know he liked blokes, let alone that he would ever like _me.”_ Draco shot a sideways smirk at Harry, adding in a laughing tone. “We’ve got a fair bit of history, after all.”

“So you’re going to tell Charlie on Saturday, then?” Ron demanded, seeming less angry than he had when he’d initially interrupted them, but still clearly irritated by the whole thing. “Because I’m not going to let you just run around behind his back, even if Harry _is_ my best mate.”

“Saturday...” Draco’s eyes flicked over to Harry, taking in his mussed hair and kiss-bruised lips and the desire still darkening those too-green eyes. “No, that’s not going to work for me.” He admitted, giving Ron an apologetic look. “Where is your brother staying again? London, right?”

“Er...yes?” Ron sounded confused and uncertain. “But he’s not at his flat just now. It’s Christmas Eve, so he’ll be at the Burrow with the rest of the family. Are you going to Floo him or something? It’s a bit late for that, I think.”

Draco frowned, then sighed in annoyed agreement. “I suppose it is a bit late for a Floo.” He dragged his gaze over Harry again, looking distinctly unhappy about being forced to wait. “And I suppose a Floo call isn’t the right way to end things anyway, but...”

“We can Apparate.” Harry said, not caring how over-eager that comment made him sound. “Not right this second, obviously. But first thing in the morning. We can go and wish everyone a happy Christmas and talk to Charlie together.”

Hermione made a small sound of disapproval and Ginny’s voice cut into the silence left by Harry’s suggestion. “We’ll all go, then. Ron, Hermione, and me; we’ll come with you. That way we can smooth things over with Mum and Dad while you two break the news to Charlie.”

Draco nodded, latching onto her idea eagerly. “A fantastic idea, girl-Weasley. You three can provide a distraction if Harry and I need to escape in a hurry.” He gave her a charming smile. “No offense, but you’ve quite a lot of family and they’re a bit terrifying at times. Your mother did take out my aunt, after all.”

Ginny laughed, delighted. “No offense taken, Malfoy. In fact, I’ll take it as a compliment that we Weasleys have managed to intimidate you, even if it’s only through sheer numbers.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Well, since we’re going to be up early - and I’ve already had all the excitement I can take for one night - I’m going to head up to bed.” He shot a wary glance at Ron - who sighed in a put upon way but nodded his approval - then pressed a quick kiss to Draco’s lips. “See you in the morning.”

“Sweet dreams, Harry.” Draco called after him, his heart jumping in his chest when Harry turned and shot him a smile over his shoulder before slipping through the door leading to the stairs to his dorm. It wasn’t long before Draco followed the Gryffindor’s lead and retired for the night as well, eager for morning to come so he could _finally_ call Harry Potter _his._

~❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄♥❄~

Harry kindly allowed Draco to skulk into the Burrow behind him as they followed Ron, Ginny, and Hermione into the kitchen. The sounds of laughter mingled with silverware on dishes, and the smell of Molly Weasley’s home cooking filled the house. Harry grinned when the Weasleys who were present greeted the youngest children with enthusiasm, everyone jumping up to hug Ron and Ginny, then Hermione, excepting Fleur who was pregnant and refusing to exert herself for anything or anyone. Not that anyone minded; not at all. Molly, Arthur, Bill, Fleur, and Percy were all present, though George and Charlie were nowhere in sight.

Harry glanced at Draco, then stepped into the kitchen from where he’d been lurking in the doorway and let Molly envelope him in a warm hug. “Harry, dear! I’m so glad you four decided to join us after all. I was just saying it’s not really Christmas without all of my children here.”

Harry flushed and glanced behind him nervously; Draco was still hiding in the shadowed entrance to the kitchen. “We, er...had a specific reason for coming, Molly.”

Molly’s eyes followed his, then widened when Draco Malfoy stepped into her kitchen, looking nervous and embarrassed. “Oh! Well...I see. Draco. How...how nice to have you in our home.”

Draco smiled, though it was hesitant and tense around the corners of his mouth and eyes, and inclined his head politely. “It’s a pleasure to be here, Mrs. Weasley. I’m a bit sorry I ate before leaving Hogwarts, actually, as it smells absolutely heavenly in here. You’ve surely outdone yourself, if Ron’s behavior is any indication.”

Everyone’s eyes flicked to Ron for a moment, who - sure enough - had his cheeks full of food. He raised both eyebrows and asked around the mouthful. “What?”

“Nothing, dear. Enjoy your food, but please don’t speak with your mouth full.” Molly’s admonishment was gentle and amused. She shook her head and turned back to Draco with a softer, less-wary look on her face. “Well, if you’re not hungry, Draco, can I interest you in a cup of tea?”

Before Draco could say anything, Harry had spoken up. “He doesn’t drink tea, Molly. He prefers coffee, with some sort of weird flavored creamer.”

Draco turned to him with wide eyes and Harry flushed, looking away. Draco’s lips curved up - less tense and more natural this time - and corrected. “It’s not a _weird flavor,_ Harry. It’s vanilla, and it’s a far sight better than drowning a cuppa in so much milk and sugar that it’s hardly sporting to call it tea anymore.”

“Draco!” Charlie’s enthusiastic voice from the door to the back garden drew everyone’s attention, including Harry’s - he paused in the act of sticking his tongue out at Draco, feeling suddenly very guilty. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you see, I...” Draco glanced nervously at Charlie’s family, including the remaining twin who was slipping in behind his older brother, a pile of wood trailing along behind him. “I wanted to speak with you, actually.”

Charlie was still grinning, easy and relaxed, his blue eyes sparkling brightly. “That’s brilliant, Draco; I was missing you already, you know. You’re an easy bloke to get fond of, did you know?”

He stepped in closer, crowding up into Draco’s personal space. He ducked his head, aiming a kiss for Draco’s mouth, but the blonde turned his head at the last second. Charlie’s mouth skated over the soft skin of Draco’s cheek, then he pulled back with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“I...” Draco’s throat felt tight; he didn’t know if he could do this. Especially not here, in front of the man’s family. It was hardly Charlie’s fault that Draco had been in love with Harry Potter for as long as he had known the other teen, and Draco didn’t want to offend the dragonologist, who he _had_ actually liked. 

“Charlie.” Harry spoke up, voice soft and apologetic as he moved closer, holding out a hand, palm-up, to Draco. “We need to talk to you.”

Charlie glanced at Harry, then at his palm, then at Draco. The blonde looked as sorry as Harry had sounded as he reached out, sliding his palm against Harry’s and twining their fingers together. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were talking loudly in the background, clearly trying to drown out their conversation from the others; to keep the two groups separate. Charlie, however, wasn’t concerned. He looked at the way Draco’s long, pale fingers slipped between Harry’s slightly shorter, darker ones; with the way their palms pressed tight together, and so did their forearms, despite the thick sweaters they both wore. He looked at the flush on both their cheeks, and the nervous way Draco wouldn’t meet his eyes. Harry, on the other hand, was leveling him with a direct gaze - one that said he was sorry, and not, at the same time.

A twitch of Charlie’s lips was all the warning they got before the redhead burst into amused laughter, his whole body shaking with it. Harry blinked in confusion while Draco finally looked up, wariness painted across his aristocratic features.

Charlie looked over at the table, grinning at Ginny, who was smiling back, giggling quietly to herself. “I guess I owe you a galleon, Gin.”

“I told you it wouldn’t take much to get Harry to make a move.” Ginny agreed, sipping her tea before grinning smugly at her older brother. “That blasted game helped more than I can say, otherwise it might have taken him actually seeing you two together for him to stop acting stupid.”

“What?” Draco asked numbly, not quite sure what was happening. A glance at Harry told him that, whatever it was, the Savior was _not_ in on it. “I don’t understand...”

“It’s mostly my fault.” Ginny admitted, still smiling. “When Charlie wrote to ask if you were fit, I wrote back telling him you are, but that Harry had been watching you and he might be stepping on toes with asking you on a date. Then I mentioned that it might help Harry realize his feelings faster if Charlie were to date you a couple of times, but warned him not to get too attached because anyone paying attention could tell you felt the same as Harry and just weren’t brave enough to go after him.”

Draco gaped at her, then turned hurt, accusing eyes on Charlie Weasley. “You...you were just pretending to like me, then? You didn’t actually?” It stung, more than he thought it should have considering the comforting heat and press of skin that was Harry’s hand in his.

“At first.” Charlie shrugged, his smile never fading. “I went because Gin thought it would be a good idea, but you were...well, enchanting. You were honest and witty and quite clever. I enjoyed talking with you, Draco, and I rather enjoyed snogging you.

 _“But...”_ Charlie rolled his eyes, then smiled wryly at Harry before shifting his gaze back to the Slytherin. “I knew from the start that you’d fall into Harry’s arms as soon as he told you he was interested. So I’m a bit sorry we only got the one date, but if you and Harry are happy, then we’re good.”

Draco’s lips curved up, his wounded ego soothed by Charlie’s assurances. “We’re good.” He agreed, adding softly. “I did rather like you, you know. If I weren’t so mad about Harry...well. No use speculating, really, I just wanted you to know that it’s not that you’re lacking at all.”

“No hurt feelings, Draco.” Charlie leaned down swiftly and bussed him on the mouth before Draco could realize what was going to happen and turn away. He winked at the blonde, then turned to quirk an eyebrow at Harry. “No hard feelings, Harry?”

“So long as you keep your lips to yourself from now on...” Harry warned, albeit in a mild tone. “Then no, Charlie. No hard feelings.”

“Maybe I just want to challenge him.” Charlie teased, eyes sparkling now that he was sure they were all on the same page.

He was surprised when Draco blushed and ducked his head, though Harry grinned like a cat with a mouth full of cream-drenched feathers and explained a moment later. “He’s no longer the champion, actually. I beat him last night.”

Molly cleared her throat, finally having enough of the strange conversation happening in her kitchen, as though it were the place for that sort of thing. “If you three are quite done making a spectacle, perhaps we could finish breakfast?”

Harry flushed, but Draco was the one who spoke. “As much as we would love to stay, I’m afraid Harry and I have a previous engagement that requires us to return to Hogwarts.”

Charlie snorted, but a glare from his mother shut him up quickly. After a short round of goodbyes, Harry and Draco left the Burrow - hand-in-hand - and Apparated to the school’s gates.

Once they were crossing the school grounds, Draco glanced over at his...his what? The thought nearly stopped him in his tracks. What were he and Harry? Were they dating? Was it just sex? No, of course not; Harry was a Gryffindor to his core and surely too noble for such a thing. Dating, then. But was it official, or a secret? They’d told the Weasleys, of course, and Harry hadn’t seemed worried about their audience the night before, but...

“Stop that.” Harry’s chiding voice broke into his thoughts, causing his head to swivel around in surprise. “I can practically _hear_ you thinking, you’re doing it so loud. Stop it.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Draco admitted, glancing down at their interwoven fingers with both longing and fear. “I don’t know what _we_ are doing. Do you?”

“Nope. Not a clue.” Harry shrugged, seeming unconcerned by that fact. “Does that matter? I mean, we can always figure it out as we go. That’s what most people do, I think.”

Draco snorted. “Most people don’t have our history.” Harry shrugged again, giving his hand a squeeze, and Draco sighed in frustration. “Aren’t you worried in the least?”

Harry stopped walking, dragging Draco to a halt as well. “Well, of course I’m worried. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, as I said. You’re the first bloke I’ve been with, and your parents aren’t exactly my biggest fans, and I’m always being followed by reporters which is bound to drive you completely barmy in no time at all, and we’ll never have a lick of privacy, and you could _easily_ crush me by deciding you’re better off with someone less...well, less _me.”_

“Then why...?” Draco trailed off, not sure what to say next.

“Because none of that compares to how I feel when I look at you.” Harry smiled when Draco sucked in a startled breath and continued. “It doesn’t matter when stacked up against the sound of your laugh, or the look of concentration on your face when you’re brewing potions or playing chess, or the thrill I get from going toe-to-toe with you in anger or - as it turns out - passion. And if you walk away at some point and leave me broken, it’ll have been worth it for every day I got to call you mine. Plus, I’d do my best to get you back and I’m pretty stubborn, so...”

“So I probably shouldn’t leave, then.” Draco said, pretending his chest wasn’t full of butterflies and his eyes weren’t misty; Harry was unexpectedly poetic when he wanted to be. “Save us both the trouble of you getting me back.”

“Good idea.” Harry laughed, then leaned in and pressed their mouths together, heedless of the snow beginning to fall lightly around them.

When they broke apart - flushed and panting - a few minutes later, Harry asked softly. “So, your dorm room or mine? After all, I still have a forfeit to claim.”

Draco’s teeth flashed as he grinned, then purred. “Yours... _this time.”_

Laughing with delight, Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and tugged him onwards, towards the school and their personal Happily Ever After.

_**~ Fin ~** _

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to apologize for anyone who found themselves unintentionally rooting for Charlie. After his and Draco's date - actually, about halfway through it - my pre-readers found themselves torn between wanting the Harry/Draco resolution I had promised them, and wanting Charlie to emerge the victor in that little deal. I am very fond of Charlie, and enjoyed his and Draco's dynamic immensely, but the fic was built as a Drarry and so it remains. I did my best to give a happy ending to everyone involved - including Charlie, who was forewarned of the outcome and had no hurt feelings or misconceptions - and I hope everyone was satisfied.
> 
> Remember, comments are love!
> 
> ~ Sly


End file.
